


killing me slow

by LyraLV



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Drugging, Implied Fellcest, M/M, bad coping decisions, kustard - Freeform, probably inaccurate geographical descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLV/pseuds/LyraLV
Summary: In which Sans runs away on his own. AU of "uncharted territory" from nilchance's "ain't this the life" series.





	killing me slow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nilchance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/gifts).
  * Inspired by [uncharted territory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17531270) by [nilchance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance). 



> content warnings in the endnotes

The nightmare would be a plausible excuse for running, but Sans is pretty certain that Papyrus sees through his flimsy excuse.  
  
“You’ll call, right?” Papyrus manages to slam the trunk shut with a gentleness that belies his love for the beautiful car. It’s honestly a miracle that he agreed to let Sans borrow the beloved convertible for an indeterminate amount of time. Sans didn’t specify a weekend long vacation, but it was heavily implied, and he knows his brother saw right through it. All the more so he can pretend that he isn’t straight up lying to Papyrus’s face again. Small mercies.  
  
“Got it right here”, he says as he waves his phone in his hand. It could probably stand to be charged, but he’s almost certain that there’s a charger in the car. His brother is always prepared like that, and it probably says as much in the already packed duffel bag currently in the trunk.  
  
It’s obscenely early in the morning. His phone has remained blessedly silent—probably because neither Red nor Edge expect him to be doing something so scatterbrained at this time of night. Sans glances at the time. 2:37. He’s got about ten hours before the first text comes through, asking if Sans is coming to lunch or not.  
  
A shiver runs down his spine. Best not think of Edge so soon before he dives out of the city. No need to give his guilt an excuse to flare up again.  
  
“The fact that you have it also means that you will call, correct?”  
  
“Of course.” Sans gives Papyrus a weak smile. “Wouldn’t leave you hanging.”  
  
“That pun doesn’t work anymore since we switched to cordless phones.”  
  
“Bummer. Here I thought I be able to cell it to you.”  
  
Papyrus sighs. He has a very distinct “I’m worried about you, and I don’t know what to do about it” face. Sans wishes he wouldn’t worry so much. Heh, that’d probably sound more sincere if he wasn’t the cause for so much worry.  
  
“I’ll call,” he says. It’s as close to a promise as he can get. Fortunately, Papyrus hears the sincerity clear enough. He nods.  
  
“Good. Should they ask any questions, I’ll inform Cherry and Edgy Me that you’ve taken a brief sabbatical to a remote location that is entirely safe and need not provoke any concern.” Papyrus very noticeably doesn’t say anything about the tension in Sans’s shoulders at the mention of Edge. “Although I suspect that they’ll want to know where you are as well. Seeing as how you won’t even tell me.”  
  
“I’m not going far,” Sans lies. “Just need a little space to think.”  
  
“You mean to ignore the emotion you’re having,” Papyrus clarifies.  
  
“Yeah.” It’s not really something Sans can deny. But he doesn’t have to admit it to himself, either.  
  
Sans wishes he could take Papyrus with him. It might make this whole not-feeling-things easier. But Papyrus is reliable as well as committed, and he’s reliably committed himself to an afternoon of hanging out with the kid during one of their very few breaks. They’ve been looking forward to hanging out with Papyrus for a while. Sans wouldn’t want to take that away from them regardless.  
  
Sans opens the door to the driver’s side and idles for a moment. He’s never been hesitant about running away, but he usually has Paps with him. Looking at his brother’s face now, he has a quick second of indecision.  
  
Papyrus shakes his head. “You need to get out of here before you go any more insane than you already are. I’ll still be here when you come back.” He smiles. Try as he might, Sans can’t hear an “if” in that statement. His brother has an immeasurable amount of trust in him. It’s incredibly scary.  
  
Sans reaches over and leans into his brother’s comforting embrace. He oddly smells like Old Spice, and the sudden image of Papyrus spraying himself with the teenage equivalent of insecurity is hilarious. He laughs.  
  
“Go, go, go, you’re already starting to be corrupted,” Papyrus says, but he hugs Sans a little closer to his chest before he lets go. He has an encouraging smile on his face that Sans can’t help but try to match.  
  
“Wouldn’t want me to turn into a pumpkin.”  
  
“You’re already halfway there, brother. Text me when you take your first break and not while you’re driving.” He gives Sans a knowing look.  
  
“Caught me. I’ll be sure to keep you posted.” He climbs behind the wheel and has an awkwardly long time pulling the seat forward as Papyrus stares in quiet amusement. “I’ll probably text in a couple hours.”  
  
“Fantastic.”  
  
They have another moment of staring at each other before Papyrus grips the edge of the car door.  
  
“Please don’t scratch her.”  
  
“Not even a dent.”  
  
“It’s supposed to be the other way around,” Papyrus deadpans. He closes the door a little. “See you soon.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sans says.  
  
The door slams shut, and Sans twists the key in the ignition. He’s out on the road in another moment, driving down empty streets as the city slowly fades behind him. There’s no mistaking the uncertainty of when he’ll see Papyrus again. But it won’t be long. Just until he can figure himself out again. He’ll return as close to good as new as he possibly can, and it’ll only be a brief vacation.  
  
His fingers tighten around the wheel. A sign for the highway lights up his windshield, and Sans leaves thoughts of warm hugs and house keys behind him.  
  
He heads west.

***

  
A month. A whole fucking month with utter radio silence aside from the bits of conversation they can glean from Papyrus’s side. They’d tried to listen to Papyrus and respect his brother’s decision, but this is fucking suicidal now, and Sans is lounging on a ticking time bomb as he gallivants in hillbilly territory.  
  
Red thought he’d been pissed when he saw the sorry sap’s sad excuse for a soul. The carelessness with which Sans regarded his health was rage inducing in itself, but it‘s a fucking cakewalk compared to this shit.  
  
Papyrus monitored Sans’s location as best he could, but Sans—loath Red is to admit it at times—is smart, and he knows Red and Edge would be in a frenzy over the most recent episode of chateau de stupid. Of course, they listened in when Papyrus put his brother on speakerphone and pretended that Sans was only talking to his brother, but the little shit had an uncanny ability of knowing when he was being eavesdropped on. He never acknowledged Red or Edge, but he certainly ended calls before the background noise could reveal too much of his location.  
  
Which is what brought Red to the present. Edge can’t afford to chase Sans across the country, chained to his position as glorified bodyguard, but Red has a wide open schedule. He‘s going to use every minute finding and dragging home this fucker. Edge had wordlessly given him a brand of painkillers that would drop a monster on the spot with one pill. It will be for Sans’s good anyways. Less hassle shoving him into a car, and it’ll give the idiot a brief reprieve from the agony he‘s no doubt in. Not like he deserves the relief though. Red has half a mind to shove him in the trunk when all is said and done.  
  
He had to rent a car. Edge needs his in case of an emergency, and Red suspects that his brother doesn’t trust him to not scratch it a bit in his anger. Not to worry. The wheel in the rental might need a slight reupholstering, but Red isn’t concerned. It’s payback for the rental agent finding it difficult to believe that Red is over the age of 25. Prick. Probably just some poorly buried racist roots that somehow keep getting conveniently overlooked by the agency. Anyways. Edge will understand Red’s anger. He does understand. He is as furious and concerned as Red is. Sans will have a hard time explaining himself when he gets back home.  
  
Red’s phone remains silent in the cupholder partly because Edge knows his brother will be driving without stopping except for gas. The other reason is so that Red can keep an eye on the tracker that shows Sans’s location. As much of a dumb genius as the little shit is, his frantic cross country trip has caused him to make fatal mistakes, such as forgetting to turn off his location in the midst of his imitation of a headless chicken run. A simple log-in to Sans’s email, and they’d narrowed down his hideout.  
  
Fucking Utah. As if the entire east coast wasn’t enough. Red slams a fist on the wheel again and glares at the human who stares at him from a nearby car. The girl immediately looks back down.  
  
Red is righteously angry, and as soon as he gets close enough, he’ll shortcut to Sans’s location and lay his hands on the slippery motherfucker. He won’t get away again. Red’ll make sure of that.  
  
He glances back down at the tracker. Two more states to go. Red heaves a shaky breath.  
  
“Better buckle up, buttercup. Daddy’s comin’.”

***

  
The setting sun swirls around Sans as he leans against the brick wall of the restaurant. He thought the years spent in Hotland would have acclimated him to any degree of hot weather, but he must’ve forgotten in his time away, and the air feels incredibly stiff and miserable. He would cool off in the break room in the back of the restaurant, but smoking is confined to outdoors only, and Sans has needs. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and releases a plume of smoke. It doesn’t make him feel better, but it‘s familiar. He needs something he‘s comfortable with.  
  
Dangerous thought. He ignores the pang in his soul as he inhales another hit from the cigarette and squints against the sun descending over the Rockies.  
  
Papyrus would appreciate a view like this. He isn’t fond of vacations, but he could be convinced every other blue moon. Maybe after all this craziness has died down, they can come out here together. Nice little family getaway that isn’t bogged down by necessity and avoidance issues.  
  
Another sharp ache from his chest forces Sans to drop the cigarette and grind his foot into it. That‘s a thing out here apparently. So much concern over wildfires that even the dry bushes several yards away can become affected. It is almost criminal to leave a cigarette burning. Sans learned that in an embarrassing way.  
  
He rubs his eyes and tugs off his work-mandated apron. It‘s about time he pack up and find another place to earn some cash a few hours from here. Maybe he’d start heading north and aim for Wyoming or Montana. They’d be bound to offer some “no paperwork needed” dish work. Maybe he’d pick up a moose souvenir for Papyrus.  
  
He steps from the wall of the restaurant and begins to trudge towards his car. The heat makes his head feel loose and dizzy, and as he sidles up to the driver’s side of the car, unlocking it and tossing his apron inside, he fails to see the reflection in the car’s finish, dust and sand aside.  
  
His chest hits the side of the car, and he immediately assesses his hp. No damage. No intent to hurt. Perhaps that can be explained by the familiar hands gripping his pelvis and the body curved against his back.  
  
“Hiya, sweetheart,” Red says. “Fancy meeting you here.”  
  
Fuck. He must really be out of it if he didn’t hear the shortcut.  
  
“How’d you even get here,” he manages to grunt out against the increasing pressure on his back and chest.  
  
“Borrowed a rental. Returned it at an agency several miles out. Papyrus doesn’t mind if I drive his.”  
  
Red’s voice is softly sweet, crooning in his ear in a way that contrasts the tightness in his hands. Sans briefly hopes that no one else is here to witness a potential murder, but the thought is just as quickly gone when Red spins him around and continues to dig his fingers into Sans’s pelvis.  
  
Red’s eyes drag up and down his body. “I have half a mind to take you right here where anyone else can see,” Red says. His words spark a reminiscence in Sans’s mind, and Sans feels his traitorous body reacting to them. Red’s grin sharpens.  
  
“I’m not going back,” Sans says, but before he can clarify that he’s not going back _yet_ , Red grabs his shoulders and bounces him against the car. It does nothing to his hp, and Sans hopes the case is the same for Papyrus’s car.  
  
Red leans in close. “You’re not in a position to be making any demands, sweetheart. And like it or not, I made a promise to your bro that I’d see to your safety, and it doesn’t involve leaving you here in dystopian Candyland.”  
  
Sans studies him. Red looks entirely serious, but he could be lying. Sans wouldn’t put it past him to use a good old guilt trip to convince Sans that he is needed back home. And fuck does he miss Papyrus. He misses his company. Almost as bad as he missed E—  
  
He hides a wince as his soul twists, but Red’s expression shows that he sees right through it. Red steps back, and roots through his jacket pocket, tossing Sans a bottle of pills.  
  
“Figured you’d run through the last batch I gave you. You’re about two steps away from Falling Down, babe.”

“Pretty sure that’s a little dramatic,” Sans says, but he pops the bottle open and tosses a pill back.  
  
He has a sudden, violently unwanted flashback to Edge spitting out a sip of tea just a little over a month ago, and Sans coughs raggedly as if he can get the effects of the medicine back out of his system. He shudders under the weight of the memory, or maybe that’s the medicine kicking in. The ground is spinning.  
  
“Just a slightly stronger painkiller, sweetheart. To make the journey home a bit easier.”  
  
Sans supposes he should feel angry or terrified or a mix of the two, but he feels nothing. All of his concerns are slipping away.  
  
He feels the dizziness increase, and the spots in his vision grow as his knees buckle. He half expects Red to let him hit the ground, but he’s caught by the shoulders before he makes it. His head is pressed awkwardly into Red’s spine, and a hand rubs gently along the back of his skull, cradling it. He might be imagining the slight tremor in Red’s hand. Another parallel to a different time with a different brother. Sans feels his soul clench then settle into a terrifying numbness. Caught here on his knees in Red’s arms...it’s almost comfortable. Then, Red steps back and lets him fall the rest of the way to the ground. Ah, there it is. He vaguely thinks that he should worry about the no doubt seething anger Red is to unleash upon him, but that’s a problem for his future self.

He falls asleep.

***

  
Red glances over at his passenger slouched against the seatbelt, head bowed close against his chest as he softly snores. He’s in for a world of trouble when he wakes up. There‘s no saving him from the wrath that will be inflicted on him by Red and Edge, only slightly mitigated due to the sorry state of his soul. It’s a very near possibility that Edge puts a leash on Sans and not let him out of his sight.

Red looks back at the road and smiles. Now, there‘s an idea. Maybe further down the road when Sans still needs to give recompense for his flighty actions and the near heart attack he gave them all. It’s gonna be interesting to see how Sans talks his way out of this one.

Given the strength of the medicine and Sans’s utter exhaustion based on the bags under his eyes, the painkillers will keep him out for another eight hours. By the time Sans wakes up, they’ll be well into Kansas, and he doubts Sans will have the energy to attempt another run when they stop for gas. And it’s a good thing, too, because Red is fucking exhausted. He hasn’t slept since he left the city, and it’s approaching 48 hours since he’s been up. Staying awake to save idiots. It’s a new habit he’s not fond of developing.  
  
Red grips the steering wheel and sighs. He isn’t happy, but he‘s happier than when he first began this stupid goose chase. He can’t wait to see his bro again. They have a lot of time to make up for in his absence.  
  
He reaches out and roughly pats Sans’s drooping shoulder. “So will we, sweetheart. So will we.”  
  
He presses a little more on the pedal and grins. It‘s good to be going back home again. He‘s certain Sans will eventually agree.

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: Red drugging Sans and basically kidnapping him; Sans being a frustrating little shit (am I doing this right idk lol)
> 
> I wrote this on a plane. Please excuse my first foray into Undertale fiction since I haven't written anything but original fiction in years. I have absolutely no self-control, and this was entirely self-indulgent. I'm certain I've butchered the voices of Papyrus, Sans, and Red, and I'm sorry for the unforgiveable ooc nature of them all. Nilchance, hope this wasn't too much of a horror to read (and I wasn't even going to bother attempting Edge's voice lmao). Thanks for writing such a cool series. Everyone go read "ain't this the life" if you haven't yet. It's beautiful.


End file.
